Dark Heritage
by classycat
Summary: In their 5th year at Hogwarts Harry, Draco and Ginny are thrown together by a strange twist of fate. Now they must deal with their new powers, and help fight an ancient prophecy that threatens to distroy them all. (Draco/Ginny)
1. Prolouge

Prologue   
The night was cold.   
An icy wind rustled through the trees, and the new moon's light shone down weakly. If you looked carefully you could still see the shadow of the full moon, as if it was cradling the new in its arms.  
  
Deep in the unnamed forest, twelve figures in dark robes circled around a fire.   
These were the first of the Death Eaters. More would come soon, when they were told of the Dark Lord's revival.   
  
In the center stood the Dark Lord Voldemort himself and next to him the rat-like Peter Pettigrew. Voldemort waited until all of them were standing in the clearing before doing anything. He was still getting used to owning his own body, and not leeching off another's. It felt strange having so much freedom.    
  
The Dark Lord waved his hand almost carelessly and all at once the pile of twigs beside him burst into wickedly burning flames. It was but an example of his power, showing his followers that he needed not a flimsy wand to do his magic. As expected, most jumped back in fear, not expecting him to be so powerful, so soon.  
  
He watched as they brushed themselves down hastily and leapt back to where they had been -pretending nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all.   
  
"Lucius," the Dark Lord called out suddenly, and from the circle stepped one of his most faithful and obedient followers, a man named Lucius Malfoy.  
  
"Yes Lord?" he asked, bowing his blonde head neatly. The light reflected off his hair, turning it orange with the fire's flickering light.   
  
"Your son. . ." Voldemort hissed, in his gravely voice, "What is his age. . .?"   
  
"Sixteen, my Lord" Lucius replied, bowing yet again.   
  
"Then he is nearly of age. . . Have you told him of my plans?"   
  
Lucius shook his head. "No, but if you wish I will. Just say the word and I will obey."   
  
The Dark Lord smiled, his face contorting into a deathly mask of pure ugliness. "No... Leave him. . . He does not need to know of his destiny just yet. . ." 

  
"Very well my Lord." Lucius said and stepped backward, to his place in the circle. For the rest of the night they discussed their plans. Soon the whole world would know that Voldemort was back, and more terrifying than ever.   
  
Or at least he would be, as soon as they found that one object. That one thing Voldemort needed to become whole again, and of course, they needed Lucius' son.   
  
The Death Eaters left as soon as the first rays of sunlight filled the dark sky, all but one. He had ordered Peter to stay behind, and Peter had done as he asked.   
  
Visibly quivering.   
  
Seeing this the Dark Lord let out a harsh laugh. "You have nothing to fear from me right now Wormtail, I simply need you to do a little job. . ." And with that the Dark Lord proceeded to tell Peter what was needed of him.   
  
Meanwhile, back at Malfoy Manor sixteen year old Draco Malfoy slept on, ignorant of the fate the would soon befall him. Oblivious to the dark decisions he would have to make.


	2. Holiday

_Dark Destiny_ Harry awoke to the sound of screaming. His aunt petunia's screaming to be precise. He sat up in his bed, and blinked groggily. Then he reached out with one hand and grabbed his glasses off the table beside him. 

It was then he realised that Hedwigs cage was empty. For one heart stopping moment Harry froze and wondered what had happened to her. Then he actually listened to what Petunia was screaming_. "Get it off! Get it off! Vernon! Heeeeelp me!!!!!!!!"_

Faintly Harry could hear the sound of Hedwig hooting. 

Hastily he threw back hie bed sheets and raced down the stairs, following Petunias screams. He paused as he entered the kitchen, he couldn't believe the sight before his eyes. Hedwig was sitting perched on Petunias head, her large wings flapping wildly. While Petunia, face bright red –the shade of a ripe tomato- rushed around in circles, shaking her head madly.

For a few seconds Harry stood in the doorway, struggling hard not to burst out laughing. Then once he was sure he'd got himself under control he walked over and carefully picked Hedwig out of her hair.

Hedwig struggled and Harry could have sworn she wanted to go back to what she had been doing. It was then he noticed the broomstick in Petunias hands. _His_ broomstick to be exact_. _His_ firebolt._ It came to him then, just what had been happening when he had been sleeping.

"You were going to throw my broomstick away!" He yelled angrily at his red-faced aunt. She stared back at him levelly, not denying his accusations at all. "And if Hedwig hadn't distracted you, you would have" Harry said, quieter now. He simply couldn't believe any one could be that cruel. The Firebolt was the first thing his Godfather had bought him, and he treasured it deeply.

Storming up to her he grabbed his broomstick and ran back up the stairs to his room. Quiditch was the one thing that kept him sane right now. Everything else so far had let him down. 

Even his best friends Ron and Hermione weren't really there for him any more; they had been acting strongly around him since the Triwizard tournament, and Harry had the sinking suspicion they held him responsible for Cedric's death.

Cedric.

He had been dead for over a month now, yet Harry still saw his face in his dreams. Almost every night he woke up panting, eyes widened in terror as he relived Cedric's death over and over again.

Each and every waking moment Harry was racked by guilt, deep in his heart he knew that he was indeed the cause of the older boys death. After all it had been his idea for them to grab the Cup together, it was his fault that Cedric had to have been there to witness Voldemorts revival.

Suddenly a loud voiced snapped Harry out of these thoughts. It was Uncle Vernon. His was a vivid purple in colour and Harry knew that his punishment –although he had done nothing- would be severe.

And it was.

For the rest of the morning Harry was forced to stand outside in the blistering sun and re-paint the front porch –a horrible off-yellow colour his aunt called 'Summer dream' - it was uncomfortable to say in the least.

Refusing to have the neighbours think that Harry was they're son, they had forced him into some horrible over sized clothes and pretended he was a painter they had hired.

Painting was hard work, espically when standing in the full glare of the sun. Harry sighed and wiped the sweat off his brow. He would kill for a drink right now.

Noticing he had paused Aunt Petunia poked her head out the window and threw the very large metal frying pan she had been using to cook Dudley's second breakfast with.

Harry ducked just in time, and went back to painting. He sighed. This was a long summer, he could only wait for it to be over. . . 

----------***----------

For over twenty years the name Voldemort has struck fear into witches and wizards around the globe. 

Voldemort –commonly known as he-who-must-not-be-named – made a habit of killing both Muggles and Wizards alike, for the sake of it.

He and his followers (the self-named Death Eaters) plagued and plundered the country freely, getting rid of any Mudbloods and the people who stood in they're way.

So the Dark Lord remained unstoppable, causing wizards everywhere to quiver in fear. Until one very unique little boy came along. This boys name was Harry Potter.

Draco threw the book (Dark Wizards-A history) across the room in disgust. It fell against one of Malfoy Manors library tables, and clattered to the floor loudly.

He couldn't get away from Harry anywhere, Draco thought bitterly, not even in his own home.

He stood up from the large black chair he had been sitting in and dusted himself off, glancing at the clock on the wall opposite him as he did so. 

It was nearly seven o' clock.

He walked out of the room quickly, calmly stepping over the fallen book on his way. He couldn't be bothered putting it away. That was the house elves job.

Swiftly he climbed up the marble staircase to where his room lay, on the 3rd floor. Soon his father's guests would be arriving, and Draco needed to get changed.

Fifteen minutes later he met his father down stairs, where he was promptly ordered to mingle. He did so cringingly, as he tried to avoid the stares and whispers that followed behind his back.

"Oh look its Lucius's son. . . yes there's great plans being made for him…"

Over half the people there were Death Eaters, and though he would never admit it, they made him uncomfortable. He had no idea what 'The big plans' for him were yet –his father had never cared to inform him.

"Dearie Me! If it isn't little Draco!" Shrilled a high-pitched voice behind him. Draco froze, and tried not to scowl. He was not little. 

He recognised that voice, and for a moment he contemplated running away. But a Malfoy never ran away from a guest, and being the perfect Malfoy he turned and gave the speaker a polite smile.

It was, of course Edwina Killjoy. Edwina was a large woman, dressed entirely in a gown made of bright violet material. Draco had to force himself not to shudder, the dress was giving him a headache just by existing.

"Well!" She continued, smiling horribly. "Aren't you just the spitting image of your father!" Draco gave her another tiny smile; busily trying to think of ways he could possibly get away from her disgusting perfume.

It was true in a way. Both he and his father had the same white-blonde coloured hair and grey eyes. But that was were the resemblance stopped. 

Everything else about him he inherited from his mother.

Thankfully at that moment they were interrupted by Edwina's husband –a slightly waspish looking man called Steven- who came over and dragged her away before she got the chance to say anything else.

For the next hour and half Draco was forced to mingle with almost every one there. He had to fight to keep his eyes open and every five seconds he placed his hand over his mouth to prevent a yawn escaping.

This summer had been one of the worst yet, his father had hired a bunch of new tutors, to teach him more about the dark arts, and almost every evening there was another stupid party to go to.

When at last he was sent to bed Draco was relieved. He was glad that school started back up the following day –he couldn't stand another night of this.


End file.
